


Embers

by patentpending



Series: 13 Days of no-longer Halloween [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Stories, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentpending/pseuds/patentpending
Summary: People always seem to forget that ghost stories are inherently tragedies.  Logan can’t help but remember.





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Brief descriptions of injury; mention of past character death.

“I know making bad decisions is one of your few skills,” Virgil drawled, “but you’ve really outdone yourself this time, Princey.”

“Be nice, Virge!”  Patton reached over in the backseat, swatting him gently.  “I think camping will be fun!”

“Thank you, Padre,” Roman sniffed self-importantly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

“I fail to see how recreational savagery could be classified as scintillating to anyone.”  Logan rested his forehead against the car window, pale gray eyes watching the trees, blazing with color, whip past them as they traversed through the forest.  “The industrial revolution occurred for a reason.”

“Come on, Jack Lon-dumb.”  Roman shot him a side glance, smirking.  “Campfires, S’mores, ghost stories, singing - what’s not to love?”

“All of the above,” Virgil and Logan groused simultaneously.  On instinct, Logan held up his hand, and Virgil slapped him a high-five.

Patton gasped dramatically, clutching his bag of marshmallows to his chest.  “How can you not like S’mores!?”

“I find it particularly difficult to trust any food with an apostrophe in the name.”

Patton pouted, then turned to his other opposer. “Virgil.”  Patton slowly blinked those huge eyes at the emo, and Logan sighed.  That poor man was a goner.  “You don’t hate S’mores… do you?”

Virgil’s cheeks flushed, and he struggled for an unnecessarily long amount of time before managing a “no.”

Roman and Logan caught each other’s eyes.   _‘Kiss already,’_  Roman mouthed, and Logan snorted, mouthing back a  _‘concurred.’_

The power of Patton’s puppy dog eyes was apparently far too potent because Virgil went on to say “and I actually do like ghost stories.”

Roman mock-gasped.  “What?!  Tall, dark, and heinous likes ghost stories?  Perish the thought!”

“You missed the exit,” Logan informed him dryly.

Roman muttered a few choice curses in Spanish before performing a  _very_  illegal u-turn.

Patton slid against Virgil with an “Oh!”  Virgil meanwhile, was torn between enjoying having Patton pressed against him and being concerned that Roman almost flung them off of a cliff.

“You cannot drive, Princey,” he groused, wrapping an arm around Patton to stabilize him.

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey!”  Patton chirped, far too brightly.  “We’re here!”

They spilled out of the car in a tangle of limbs and wash of playful bickering, landing silently on the thick carpet of autumnal leaves.

“Besides,” Roman picked back up on their earlier strand of conversation.  “Even if you like ghost stories, it’s not like there’s any good ones out there.  They’re all the same concoction of cheap thrills and horror.”

Virgil grinned wickedly.  “Oh, is that so, Princey?”

“Yes it is, Goth Man,” Roman fired back, a tad too stiffly, ignoring Virgil’s protest of ‘excuse you, I am  _emo’._   “Ghosts aren’t real, and most ghost stories are far too cliché.”

They were all silent for a moment.

“I’m inclined to agree with Roman,” Logan interrupted, trying to drag the tent from the car and huffing in frustration as it slipped from his fingers.  Patton scooped it up, and Logan shot him a grateful look.  “Although I never thought I’d be forced to utter that particular sentence. Ghost stories are outdated attempts to impress cultural norms and a respect for curfew on children.”

“You know you love me, Calculator Watch,” Roman cooed, winking.

Logan arched an unimpressed eyebrow, keeping down the flush on his cheek from sheer force of will.  “Frankly, if I had to choose between you and the Headless Horseman, I’d be quite pleased with my lack of a cranium.”

Virgil cackled and Roman placed a hand on his chest, making offended noises.

“Kiddos!”  Patton called.  “Help me with the tent!”

They complied, managing to cobble it together with skill of practice.  Before long, the camp was set, and a crackling fire burned lowly in the center of the clearing, casting tall shadows on the trees lurking at the edges of its protective glow.  The rising moon hovered like a watchful eye above them, peering down in disapproval or confusion, Logan wasn’t sure which.

Patton hunted through the edge of the treeline for sticks, gathering them in a small bundle in his arms as Virgil tossed some larger logs into the fire, sending up ruby-red embers against the darkening sky.  They spiraled through the air, dipping and swirling gracefully, climbing so high that Logan had to crane his neck to see them before they finally winked out.  A few, however, lingered, swirling higher and higher into the sky until Logan could no longer see them.

“What’re you thinking about, To bored A Fire?”  Roman flopped down on the log next to him, tilting his head up to catch the heavens in his pale eyes.

_The odd permanence of everything.  How things linger long after they should be gone.  Sparks that fly into the sky yet never fade away.  What a curse it would be to burn forever._  Logan shrugged.  “Embers.”

“Just embers?”  Roman purred.  “No other chemistry you want to talk about?”

Logan laughed despite himself, feeling that place in his chest reserved only for Roman glow.  “Well, I doubt you’d be willing to engage in a conversation about titrations.”

Roman snorted.  “You’d be right.”

“S’more time!”  Patton proclaimed, dumping the sticks, marshmallows, and chocolate on the ground.

“I’m not entirely certain that’s sanitary,” Logan remarked, grimacing.

“That’s what the fire’s for!”  Roman exclaimed.

“You lack a basic understanding of the spread of germs.”

“You lack a basic understanding of fun.”

“S’more time,”  Patton repeated sternly, looking down on them.

“Okay, Padre, whatever you say.”  Roman scooped up a stick, skewering a marshmallow and twirling it over the flames.  Virgil and Patton joined him, either taking the time to toast it perfectly - Patton - or sticking it directly in the flames like a monster - Virgil.

It took Logan a few tries to pick up the stick and skewer the marshmallow just right.

“Thinking about it too hard, Lo,” Virgil muttered around a mouthful of crispy sugar.

He managed, lightly toasting the marshmallow before popping sandwiching it with chocolate and graham crackers.  It tasted like nothing.

“You know,” Virgil said, smiling darkly.  “This reminds me of a story.”

Patton turned to him, eyes wide and sparkling.  “Really?”

“A ghost story!”

Logan groaned.  “I detest those.”

“Nah,” Virgil reassured him, “this is a good one, Specs.”

“Come on, Logan,” Roman wheeled, leaning into him.  “It’ll be fun.”

He’d never quite been able to deny Roman.  “Fine,” Logan huffed.  “Tell your tale.”

“That’s the  _spirit!”_   Patton cheered, and Roman muffled a snort.

Virgil grinned before slipping into character.  He faded into the shadows until all that was left of him was his dark eyes, glowing in the flickering light of the fire, and a sharp, vicious smile.

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

 

Virgil, dark with wicked delight, wove a story of vengeful spirits, forever cursed to repeat the same last day of their lives, complete with murder and mayhem.

“The ghost looked up, blood dripping down its pale, almost translucent cheek, and it began the hunt again.”

Patton shivered, and Virgil was suddenly solid again, pulling him close and squeezing his hand.  “It’s just a story, Pat.”

Patton gave a half-hearted smile and pressed into the other’s side.

Logan looked away, clenching his jaw.

“Logan?”  Roman said.  “You good there?”

“Fine,” Logan managed, straightening his tie, although it was eternally that crooked.  “I merely… am not a fan of ghost stories.”

“Scared?”  Virgil grinned.  “Don’t worry, Roman will protect you if you ask very nicely.”  He waggled his eyebrows as Patton giggled.

Logan grit his jaw, looking away.  “There’s nothing fun about ghost stories. Something terrible happened to those people, and now they’re just… stuck.  Forever.”

“It really is easier if you don’t think about it, Lo,” Patton murmured, turning away to hide his head in Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to pale, almost translucent, blonde curls.

“Well!”  Roman interrupted, several notes too loud.  “That was a particularly… gruesome tale, Charlie Frown.”

Virgil smirked.  “I live to serve.”

“That is by far the most drastic falsehood I have ever heard,” Logan said dryly, swallowing down the knot in his throat.

“Can it, Microsoft Nerd.”  Roman puffed his chest out proudly.  “It’s The Prince’s turn to speak.”

“I wasn’t aware Niccolò Machiavelli was here.”

“I wasn’t aware you’re incapable of recognizing excellence.”

“I most certainly capable. Patton is right there.”

Roman sputtered as Patton giggled.  “Go on, Ro.”  He smiled brightly.  “What’s your story?”

“Oh, it’s no mere story.”  Roman grinned.  “It’s a true tale, a legend that’s been heralded across time and space.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way Roman lit up when he got to weave a tale, eyes sparkling and face glowing with excitement.  He was ethereal in the light of the dying embers, awash in red and yellow.

“It’s the story…”  Roman paused dramatically.  “Of la llorona.”

Patton squinted.  “Isn’t that a type of beer?”

“How would you know?”  Virgil glanced down at him, alarmed.  “You’re never going to be old enough to drink, capice?”

Patton just smiled secretively.  “Whatever helps you sleep, Virge.”

“I don’t sleep.”  Virgil smirked.  “I prowl the dead of the night.”

Logan, chuckling, glanced away them and towards Roman, who had lost his glow.  He sat dejectedly, almost fading away.

“You were saying, Roman?”  He found himself interrupting the other two.  “You seemed to promise an interesting story.”

It took Roman a minute to register Logan’s words, head tilted and eyes scrunched slightly before he popped back into motion.  Before he could stop it, Logan’s heart pulsed inside of his chest - just once - as Roman smiled at him and began to speak.

_Listen! Do you hear the river nearby, whispering as it winds through the forest? Do you hear the howling, the cries? ‘Just the wind,’ you murmur, trying to persuade yourself.  ‘'Tis only this and nothing more.’  You know that it is not the wind that sobs and calls out along to the river’s song.  It is la llorona._

_Listen! She is calling for her children, sobbing and begging for their forgiveness.  She lost them in the river, she says, but it is not true. A long, long time ago, she was a happy woman with a husband she loved more than life itself and two beautiful children. They say you can still hear the happy family’s laughter._

_Listen! They say if you listen, you can still hear her screams of rage from when she found her husband with another woman. ‘¡Cabrón!’ She snarls, and the wind carries the words to us._

_Listen! Do you hear the confused cries of the children as their mother storms in, eyes blazing and mouth twisted in a snarl? Do you hear them begging, pleading for her to tell them what’s going on?_

_Listen! Can you hear the splash as they fall into the river?  They struggle for only a moment before sinking beneath the churning waters._

_Listen! Do you hear her crying out, realizing what she’s done?  She sobs into her hands, madness knocked away by grief.  ‘Mis hijos! Mis hijos!’  She knows she cannot go on without them.  She must find them.  She falls into the waters._

_Listen!  Do you hear la llorona calling for her children?  Her wails are almost suffocated by the rushing of the water.  She knows they are dead, but she refuses to believe it.  Don’t go towards the water, and if you see her, hair wet and eyes streaming with tears, run away.  There’s no telling what someone overcome with grief and denial might do._

Roman leaned back, a smirk on his face as he took in his audience’s wide eyes.

Logan pushed his cracked glasses up his nose, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.  “I must admit, that was a rather… enthralling delivery.”

Roman stilled for a moment, a red flush creeping up his neck.  “Thanks, specs.”

Logan shrugged, averting his eyes to keep from wondering how far down that blush went.  “I merely speak the truth.  It was rather terrifying.”

“Roman’s offer to provide personal bodily protection is still open.”  Virgil smirked.

Roman shot him a  _Did you just hit on Logan for me!?_  look, then turned back to Logan with a cheerful grin.  “He’s right, Portrait of Dorian Gay, I’d never let anything-”  He faltered for a moment.  “-I’d effortlessly slaughter any heinous villains who dared threaten you, and serve their head on a silver platter!”

“You can start with Virgil,” Logan deadpanned.

“Rude much?”

“Oh! Oh!”  Patton wiggled on his log seat, grinning.  “It’s my turn!”

Logan and Roman shot each other amused glances, sceptical of the adorable teen’s ability to produce anything related to horror.

“You got it, padre,” Roman cooed indulgently, heedless of the way Virgil was eyeing Patton with alarm.

“Yes, Patton,” Logan said in much the same tone.  “Please, regale us.”

Patton’s smile turned sharp and his eyes flashed dark in the gloom of the night.  Suddenly, the bruises and scratches running up and down his arms seemed to fit him much better.  “It really wasn’t safe for the man to be walking home alone at night,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.  “There were killers on the loose, after all.”

 

Half an hour later, Logan was halfway in Roman’s lap, burying his head in his shoulder - for the sheer and extremely logical purpose of using Roman as a human shield should anything unfortunate happen.  At least Roman was clutching Logan just as desperately, blackened eyes wide with fright.

Patton, cackling wickedly, wrapped up his tale of vengeful ghosts who were eternally bound to earth, delivering justice to their killers.  “So be careful who you cross” - he loomed, features rendered into pools of darkness in his ghoulishly pale face - “because you never know who might cross over to you.”

He giggled, suddenly their soft, adorable friend again.  “The end!”

“I’m never sleeping again,” Roman choked out.

Logan was busy mentally constructing a device that could encase his entire being in a protective shroud.  Bubble wrap seemed promising.

“Holy fuck,” Virgil sighed dreamily, gazing at Patton with soft eyes, “I love you.”

“Language,” Patton said absentmindedly then froze.  “Wait, what?”

Beneath his white foundation, Virgil was alarmingly red.

“Um, I just…”  He darted a nervous glance to a grinning Roman and Logan.  “HeyPattoncanwespeaksomewhereprivately? Okaythanks.”  His panicked words blurred together as he grabbed Patton’s wrist and tugged him away from their smirking friends.

“Thank the heavens!”  Roman proclaimed dramatically, throwing a hand over his forehead.  “I thought those two would never get their act together.”

Logan could think of another pair like that.

“Quite right,” he said instead, because he most certainly did not have his act together.

The moon was hanging dangerously low in the sky; they had spent almost half the night around the fire.  “You think we should get to sleep?”  Roman asked.

“Do we really need to?”  Logan asked rhetorically.

Roman shrugged.  “Might as well try.”  He smirked.  “Those two won’t be back for a good while if all goes well.”

They crawled into the tent, curling up on the bundled blankets lining the floor.  It was darker than Logan would’ve liked.  He couldn’t see Roman’s face as they lay there, facing each other.  He reached out, and his hand found long, cold fingers.  He wove them through his, slowly enough for Roman to pull away.  He didn’t.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

“Rest well, Roman.”

 

Logan didn’t sleep.  He never did anymore.  He laid in the darkness, feeling Roman’s cold hand in his own, and he wondered why his heart hurt if it didn’t beat anymore.

Patton and Virgil had come back in the dead of the night, mussed and giggling.  They were curled around each other, hands joined between them.

They all pretended to sleep.

Logan’s lip curled into a snarl.  Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to rip the canvas off of this stupid tent and hurl it into the fire.  He wanted to leave this forest, to stop pretending, to have a conversation about it, to acknowledge reality for once.

He pulled his hand from Roman’s and stalked off through the forest.

He had found the cliff on perhaps their fortieth day during the stretch of time when he had still thought this could be over.  He had tried everything, yet still, they were stuck.  For forever and a goddamn day.  He threw himself down at the edge of the cliff, staring with jaded eyes at the horizon.  Briefly, he considered scooting forward and falling off of it like he had the eightieth time or the two hundred and forty first time or the one thousand, five hundred, sixty third time or all the times after he stopped keeping count, but what was the point?  Ghosts can’t die again.

He didn’t notice Roman until he dropped onto the ground next to him, dangling his feet over the edge.  He didn’t say anything, just covered Logan’s hand with his own - cut and bruised - and waited.

Logan gazed off into the sky, streaked with navy blue and glowing red, with a sigh.  “People always seem to forget that ghost stories are inherently tragedies.”

“We don’t forget, Logan,” Roman said softly.  “It’s just… easier sometimes.  It’s nice to pretend that everything is normal.”

“What’s normal about being seventeen forever?”  Logan demanded.  “What’s normal about being stuck in the same damn day for the rest of eternity? What’s normal about being dead, Roman?”

Roman squeezed their hands.  “You.”

Logan blinked.  “What?”

Roman laughed, throwing up his free hand.  It cast no shadow in the glow of the almost-risen sun.  “Sure, we’re all dead, but at least I didn’t lose you. Any of you.”

Logan adjusted his shattered glasses on the bridge of his nose.  “I’ll confess that I… hadn’t even considered that.”

“I have.”  Absolve them, the stars were winking out of existence, one after the other.  “I’ve thought of every single way it could’ve gone worse.”

“Roman, what on Earth are you talking about?”

Roman ran a hand through his hair, but it didn’t move, forever tousled with a thin line of blood running down his forehead.  “It’s easy for you to accept it, Lo. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And you did?”

Roman stared at him a beat before laughing incredulously.  “I was the one driving! This entire thing is my fault! How am I supposed to deal with that? How am I supposed to accept that I killed my best friends?”

To that, Logan had nothing to say.  He looked down at his hands, at the gaping wounds in his torso, at the long gash running the whole way down his arm.  “It’s not ideal, I’ll give you that.”

A laugh escaped Roman’s lips, bright and fragile in the light of the gloaming.  “Understatement of the century.”

“I just wish we could talk about it. This  _denial,_  this lie we all agree to live in, it’s unbearable.”  Logan turned away, eyes darkening.  “There’s a reason ghost stories are all tragedies.”

“Well then,” Roman hedged, “if you don’t like ghost stories so much, why don’t we make up a new one?”

Logan shot him a side glance, a soft smile playing on his lips.  “What did you have in mind?”

“An epic tale!”  Roman proclaimed.  “One of adventure and friendship and life after death and… and love.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Logan fought to keep from smiling like a complete imbecile.  “I may be dead, Roman, but I still have standards.”

“Excuse you, Prideful and Prejudiced, I was talking about Patton and Virgil.”

The laugh broke free from Logan’s lips, and, when Roman leaned forward, he met him halfway.

Death wasn’t cold.  It wasn’t much of anything, really.  Logan couldn’t taste the s’mores they had made last night, he couldn’t feel the heat of the roaring fire, and he couldn’t sleep anymore, couldn’t drift away to a world only inside his head.  Death wasn’t anything at all, but, at that moment, with Roman’s fingers threading through his hair and chapped lips pressed against his own, Logan felt alive.

They didn’t need to stop for air, but Roman pulled back anyway, pressing their foreheads together.  “The sun’s going to rise soon,” he murmured.  Sure enough, the sky was losing its darkness, painting itself over with oranges and pinks and brilliant reds.

“Yes,” Logan sighed.  “I suppose it is.”  He laced his fingers through Roman’s, squeezing until he almost felt something.

“Do you think anything’s going to be different this time around?”  Roman asked.  “Or are we just going to find ourselves in that car again, driving down the same highway, staying at the same campground, walking to this same cliff everyday for the rest of forever?”

Logan sighed.  “I don’t know.”  A small, sad smile flickered on his face as his body began to fade, color and form ebbing away with the morning light.  “But maybe it will.”

He pressed his lips to Roman’s, just once, and he could almost pretend he tasted chocolate.  “Not all ghost stories have to be tragedies, I suppose.”

Roman’s eyes were becoming translucent.  Logan could see the forest behind him.  “No, I guess they don’t.”  He smiled as best he could, watching Logan fade before him.  “I love you, Logan.”

Logan wished he could press his head into Roman’s shoulder, but there was nothing there anymore.  “I love you, too, Roman.”

The sun crested the horizon, and when beams of golden sunlight reached the top of the cliff, no one was there.

**Author's Note:**

> Deliciously angsty art by @ierindoodles [here](https://ierindoodles.tumblr.com/post/179362414369/13-days-of-halloween-day-5-ghost-stories-man-i)
> 
> Thanks for (suffering) reading!
> 
> Roast me over a ghost campfire if you see a typo


End file.
